Regrets
by RedIn
Summary: United by their grief, the wardens kept standing there for a long time.


Nathaniel Howe stared dumbly at the charred corpse. No different from the others, almost unrecognizable remains resembling human forms; it was sprawled across what was once a green forest lot. They could tell the wardens from the templars only by the general shape of their armor and their weapons scattered around. Now the area was a scorched mess of blackness and the repulsive smell of burnt flesh. His overwhelmed mind couldn't process the reality.

"By Paragons, what could do such damage? It's like they were torn apart and then melted, flesh and armor both," Sigrun finally voiced their thoughts in a shaky whisper . Lien Cousland scratched his chin thoughtfully, sighing in disbelief. No human or mage could inflict such damage. Whatever had happened here had been swift and brutal.

Howe kept staring, unable to take his eyes off the filthy golden earring in a corpse's ear - well what had been an ear. He didn't want to believe it. The mage couldn't be the only one with that laughable fashion of piercing his ears.

No, wasn't him. It couldn't be him. The mage was all the colors of the world, framed in gold and amber. He couldn't be this dull, lifeless piece of melted substance. He'd refuse to go out in such a tasteless way.

A hollow chuckle burst up his throat. What was he thinking? No person can predict the way he'd meet the Maker. He knew they would all die eventually, their path was set the moment they took the heavy goblet, drank its disgusting contents, saw their first nightmare. But it was too soon, too fast.

_He didn't tell him._

He'd never told him, instead choosing huffy glares to demonstrate scorn at his jokes, his wanton ways and his magic. Nathaniel Howe was still hiding behind his pathetic hopes to be a decent man in the eyes of his father's ghost. But he never was the perfect son his father demanded him to be, and he'd never been allowed to be simply himself. He didn't know how.

Nathaniel's fingers slid around the mage's ear area, slowly, incredulously. Very carefully he pulled at the earring. Visibly cringing when it made a crusty sound, he tried to open the hinge without breaking it. "Shhhh….I am almost done. Just a few more seconds, mage. It's ok. I promise it won't hurt much longer, Anders. Just give me a moment."

Cousland and Sigrun froze, exchanging gazes full of sadness and something resembling pity. Lien paled even more – if that was possible - as he watched Howe fussing around their fallen comrade. They had had a bad start, due to their families' backgrounds. Yet now, Cousland trusted the rogue with his life. Nathaniel was a solid, rather impassive man. Always calm, the voice of reason which complemented Couslan'd rather impulsive nature. This trembling, vulnerable man wasn't Nathaniel Howe, was he?

The Warden, Hero of Ferelden, the Arl of Amaranthine stood, his jaw clenched helplessly, his head bowed in defeat. Lien had never seen Nathaniel acting like this. It took him a few heartbeats to realize that a choking pain in his chest was his own fury and grief mixed together. He'd known Rolan was trouble from the beginning so what the Void had convinced him to agree? Since when had he bent down under Chantry pressure? He'd seen too many people die – he'd grown numb. But not this time, it was different. A moment of weakness cost him a Warden, a healer. A good friend. Suddenly he felt old and tired, half-buried under the weight of too many wrong decisions. Again he'd taken a wrong choice only for someone else to pay for his resolutions. If he'd only chosen differently…would it have been enough?

Masking little throaty sobs, Nathaniel finally managed to separate the earring from its passed owner without breaking the corpse's black mass. He lingered above the corpse, fingertips tenderly trailing all over it's face before standing up.

Lien pulled the sobbing man closer awkwardly, holding him. Sigrun held her breath, looking anywhere but the crying warden. "We had to stay. I had to..." Nathaniel looked through him, already shutting down into himself as he cut his sentence in the middle, unable to find a proper ending. Placing a firm hand on Nathaniel's shoulder Lien just shook his head. Both of them knew they couldn't refuse orders from Weisshaupt. When the First Warden sends you to the Deep Roads, you go; no excuses.

United by their grief, the three kept standing there for a long time.

There was no need for words.


End file.
